Whatever, Draco
by IleneDover
Summary: Pansy's bubble bursts when she discovers that Draco doesn't really care about her. Pansy's POV. Takes place on the Hogwarts Express in HBP,  p.149-153; much of the dialogue is JKR's . Small AVPM reference!


…**All because I love the way JKR says, "[Harry] watched Pansy stroke the sleek blond hair off Malfoy's forehead, smirking as she did so, as though anyone would have loved to have been in her place." I thought it'd be fun to get inside Pansy's head during this scene, so read on if you think so too!**

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><p><strong>Whatever, Draco<strong>

"Is everything alright, Draco?" I ask softly. He's been acting very odd ever since we first boarded the train, the bridge of his nose pulled into two dark lines, eyes weary and darting around like minnows in a pond. I've never seen him like this before. "Yeah, I'm fine," he snaps back, turning his head away from me to look out the window. Vincent and I raise our eyebrows. "Okay, I just wanted to make sure…" I say, affronted. I hear a slight ring of hurt in my voice; I didn't mean for it to come out like that, so weak and pathetic. Vincent returns to his comics; Gregory's still snoring away. After a moment, Draco turns back to me, eyes cast downward. "I'm sorry, Pansy, I didn't mean to snap, okay? I've just been under a lot of stress lately…" He starts to wring his pale white hands together uneasily, clasping and unclasping his fingers. Then his foot starts tapping the floor impatiently.

"Hey, come here," I tell him gently. I know better than to press him for the source of this "stress." He lays his head in my lap, swinging his legs up onto the seat, and I proceed to stroke his velvety blond hair. My eyes trace the outline of his gorgeous pale face. Sure, his nose might be a bit pointy, but I find it rather alluring. And who could resist those prominent cheekbones? A couple of students stare at us as they pass our compartment—I think they might be Ravenclaws—but they're just jealous. "Mmm…that feels good," he croons after a while. I melt inside.

But imagine my disappointment when a moment later our peaceful bliss is interrupted by Blaise's lousy clumsiness. The idiot (returning from that totally random meeting with Slughorn) manages to jam the door on his way in. "What's wrong with this thing?" he growls as he tries repeatedly to slam the door shut with no success. _Um…maybe what's wrong is you?_ I think. Then it looks as though he jerks the door open, causing him to lose his own balance and fall into Gregory's lap. And we all know what that means…an angry bear disturbed from his slumber. So the next thing I witness is Blaise getting tossed around like a punching bag, Draco shooting up from my lap in alarm, and Blaise getting knocked against me to take his place. "Hey, get off me!" I shout and push him back into his seat, as Gregory closes the door and everything finally settles down.

Then I notice Draco's narrowing eyes trailing up to the luggage rack as if to follow something. But there's nothing there. Draco lays his head back down in my lap and I resume caressing his hair. I feel my lips pull up into a smirk; obviously whatever he just saw (or thought he saw) is not enough to keep him from desiring my attention. Of course not. He needs me.

"So, Zabini, what did Slughorn want?" Draco asks from my lap.

"Just trying to make up to well-connected people," Blaise responds casually, as if he could really care less. Then he gives a quick, cutting laugh. "Not that he managed to find many."

Draco's face folds into a disapproving grimace (I can tell he doesn't like being left out). "Who else had he invited?"

"McLaggen from Gryffindor," says Blaise.

"Oh yeah, his uncle's big in the Ministry," Draco muses.

"—someone else called Belby, from Ravenclaw—"

_Belby?_ I just can't help myself. "Not him, he's a prat!" I interject, making sure the sneer is clearly written on my face and unmistakably audible in my delivery.

"—and Longbottom, Potter, and that Weasley girl," finishes Blaise.

Draco jumps up again, knocking my hand aside. I sigh, a bit annoyed now. I can guess the source of his agitation before he says anything. "He invited _Longbottom_?"

"Well, I assume so, as Longbottom was there," Zabini says indifferently, shrugging.

"What's Longbottom got to interest Slughorn?" Draco demands.

Zabini shrugs again and directs his attention to the window.

"Potter, precious Potter," spits Draco, " obviously he wanted a look at _'the Chosen One.'_ " His lips draw into a sneer at the lofty title. "But that Weasley girl! What's so special about _her_?"

"A lot of boys like her," I offer (It's true, though I can't imagine why). I glance at Draco from the corner of my eye; he scoffs, like he can't believe it either. Good. I turn my attention to Blaise. "Even you think she's good-looking, don't you, Blaise, and we all know how hard you are to please!"

His head snaps away from the window. "I wouldn't touch a filthy little blood traitor like her whatever she looked like," he repudiates coldy.

Draco falls back into my lap, apparently calmed down, but clearly still miffed. "Well, I pity Slughorn's taste. Maybe he's going a bit senile. Shame, my father…" I continue stroking the hair off his forehead, gazing down at his light brown eyelashes framing those beautiful gray eyes…I don't really care to hear him complain about being left out, trying to bolster his insecure ego with lame excuses… But then something he says catches my attention:

"I mean, I might not even be at Hogwarts next year, what's it matter to me if some fat old has-been likes me or not?"

My hand freezes mid-stroke. "What do you mean, you might not be at Hogwarts next year?" I say indignantly. "You're not finally going to Pigfarts, are you?"

"Of course not," Draco scoffs, rolling his eyes at me. "I haven't talked about that in, like, three years. No, I mean to say that by next year I might have—er—moved on to bigger and better things." A hint of a smirk crawls onto his lips.

Gregory and Vincent gaze at Draco with their heavy square jaws hanging open like they're seeing a ghost. Even Blaise looks a bit surprised, eyebrows practically on the back of his head. '_Bigger and better things?'_ I think. That could only mean one thing, but I can hardly believe it… "Do you mean—_Him_?" I have to ask.

Draco shrugs—as if I've just asked him if he'd rather have eggs or bacon, not whether he's going to be working for _the_ most powerful Dark Lord of all time. "Mother wants me to complete my education, but personally, I don't see it as that important these days. I mean, think about it... When the Dark Lord takes over, is he going to care how many O.W.L.s or N.E.W.T.s anyone's got? Of course he isn't… It'll be all about the kind of service he received, the level of devotion he was shown."

"And you think _you'll_ be able to do something for him?" Blaise asks scornfully. "Sixteen years old and not even fully qualified yet?" His tone reeks of doubt. As if he can't even imagine Draco being able to do anything worthy of service to the Dark Lord.

Draco shifts his head in my lap. His eyes stare emptily up at the ceiling and he licks his lips. "I've just said, haven't I? Maybe he doesn't care if I'm qualified. Maybe the job he wants me to do isn't something that you need to be qualified for," he replies quietly.

Out of the corner of my eye I see his two cronies gaping like buffoons, and I have to say, I'm quite dumfounded myself. No, not dumfounded…awestruck. Yes, awestruck is what I am. Filled with utter admiration. So this must be the source of his stress; the Dark Lord must have given him something to do, something important… As my eyes remain trained on this gallant hero, this Herculean martyr, I can't help but let my mind drift to thoughts of Pansy Malfoy. Or maybe Pansy Parkinson Malfoy. It doesn't have the same ring to it as Pansy Parkinson, but the surname would certainly be worth it. Being married to someone as extraordinary as Draco…

"I can see Hogwarts," the beautiful man lying in my lap says, interrupting my thoughts of the future. His face looks smug, now that he's proven his superiority. "We'd better get our robes on."

Gregory reaches up for his trunk and as he swings it down I hear what sounds like a little gasp. Draco glances up at the luggage rack and frowns. It seems no one but us heard it. But then he appears to ignore the sound, hastily putting on his robes, locking his trunk, and pulling a traveling cloak around his neck. When the train finally screeches to a stop, sounding like a dying cat, Gregory shoves the door open and pushes his way into a crowd of second-years, punching them aside. Vincent and Blaise follow in a more subdued manner.

Now it's just me and Draco left in the compartment. Alone. I hold out my hand expectantly…

He doesn't take it. He doesn't even notice. He waves me along like I'm nothing. _Nothing_.

"You go on. I just want to check on something."

"_Whatever_, Draco," I say as I turn around with a defiant swish of my robes and stalk out the compartment door.

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><p><strong>So there, Draco! Haha, it felt weird using Crabbe's and Goyle's first names, but since Pansy addressed people by their first names (mainly just Blaise) in that scene in the book, I thought she'd probably narrate using first names. So, what did you think? Funny? Silly? Enlightening? (Yeah right.) "Totally Awesome"? Not as good as you thought it would be? (Although I certainly hope that's not the case; if it is, tell me what could be improved.) Give me your opinions, you know you want to! (Aw shucks, I ended that sentence with a preposition, didn't I?)<strong>


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